War of Revenge-War of 1812
by Sailor Amerika
Summary: England want's revenge on America after years of hurt and grief from the Revolutionary War. What better way to get revenge than to take away something that America dearly loves-to burn his capitol? But then, England realizes that this way was the worst way possible to get revenge, and sees a side of America that he wish he hadn't uncovered. Worst summary ever.
1. The Plot

_**The Plot**_

_(England's P.O.V.)_

* * *

It was extremely early in the morning. Since the time differences are harshly different, I had no idea what time it was. But, I was still alert, and, judging from the stream of British men behind me, they were alert, too. We were about to accomplish something great, something that that young, spiteful lad would never see coming. It would be a slap in the face and tell that bloody git not to mess with England. If you bite us English-men, we make sure we bite back _harder_.

The sun had not yet risen over the peak of the mountains yet. Perfect. He defiantly won't see this coming at all. The crisp morning air filled my nose with an indulging, yet sickening smell. A light dew covered the ground and trees, making the tops of our heads and the bottom of our boots wet. Mountain ridges stretched as far as the eye could see, seemingly binding us in the land. It felt awkward and strange being on this land again. Last time I was here, I had a gun pointed at my head, and I collapsed on the ground in a heap of sobs and tears. I felt broken like a fragile piece of porcelain had been dropped from a tall set of Chester draws. But not today, not ever after today. Today, _he_ would be the broken one, the one who would be on his knees, begging to come back to me. After today, I will leave a perminant mark on this country, one that they will always recognize.

I felt a small bump from behind me. I whip around quickly, only to discover in a sigh of relief that it was my men, who were tapping their feet into the soft earth impatiently. If we were to get caught by the people of this land, or America himself, we would could very well wind up on hell's doorstep. I could have another gun pointed at my cranium, only this time, the trigger might actually be pulled.

"Uh, sir, are we to continue our journey?" asked my second-in-command officer. I didn't realize I had been so lost in my own deep thought, that I had paused our mission. I quickly dusted up my tracks with a likely excuse.

"Just scouting the area for any signs of trouble. I thought I heard a rustle in the bushes, but I guess I was wrong." At least I was partially truthful.

"Righto. Lets walk on, men," he stated, and with that, our mission resumed, wondering what was to be ahead of us.

Walking a little farther, I could see the top of a particularly large building. It had the new flag of this nation strewn up on the top of the building, waving in the warm breeze of the morning. With thirteen white stars sewn in a perfect circle inside of a blue square of fabric, and thirteen red and white stripes shooting out from the right side pf the blue square, it was a mighty sight to see. I felt my heart tug in my chest to see the new flag.

_That used to be my flag..._ I shook my head to prevent any further thought from flying into my head like a fairy. It was no time to get sentimental about the past. We had a mission to complete!

"March on!" I stated, but not before I heard rustling coming from the hedges of a nearby green wall. I audibly gasped and pointed my rifle at the the sound, locked and loaded, ready to shoot. A small man, probably younger than America, popped out from the brush. He looked like America, but with longer hair and a thinner form. He also had a long, singular curl that had been untamed, popping out of the top of his forehead, bouncing has he walk towards me. I kept my rifle pointed at the man, and he stopped walking. I stood strong and tall, not daring to move an inch from my spot on the earth. The man hesitated to speak, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally saying,

"E-England, it's just m-me, Canada," he stuttered softly. After taking another long look at him, I finally realized it _was_ Canada. I felt silly, and I could feel a hot sensation growing upon my cheeks.

"Oh! My dear apologies," I said, trying my best to hide my embarrassment. This happens frequently, so often that you would think I would know Canada a little better. But no, it's not like that. Canada looks almost exactly like America, minus the hair, eyes, and body build. He has the tendency to "disappear," so it often takes me a long time to find him, to recognize him in general.

"Again, my apologies," I said again. Canada had brought several men with him. Not enough to be exactly called an army, but just enough to make my army larger. I smiled.

"Good man," I said, ruffling his slightly messy blond hair. Canada smiled a bashful smile. My smile quickly faded. Now it was really the time to be serious. We had come far, and this was not the time to rejoice with my former colony.

I scouted the area quickly before beginning to walk again, and I kept my eye on a large house off to my left. It wasn't as large as any other English house, but it was still a pretty good size. A large American flag was whipping around in the summer wind next to the property. There was a sign at the end of the cobblestone way leading to the house. I squinted to read it. Even if there was no signs of life or movement in the home, that didn't mean that there wasn't someone inside, possibly watching us as we walked. Finally, my vision could read the sign; _America's Residents. Since 1776._ it read in big, black letters. I could feel my eyes growing wide as I halted right there. My men and Canada copied me, and froze too.

I was not going to let America catch me now. We have come to far just to have our plans foiled by that bratty America!

"Huddle!" I whispered.

My men, Canada, and I all huddled together in a tight circle.

"Alright, we need to sneak past America's house without getting caught, be as light on your feet as possible. We can't afford to get captured," I said. We broke the circle, and went on with the plan.

Since I was the leader, I went first, along with Canada, my second-in-command officer, and a small group of soldiers. We walked quietly past America's house. All was well, except for when one of my men in the small group stepped on a loose cobblestone. The stone flew out of it's hole in the ground, and hit the pathway with a high-pitched _THUD!_ I hissed under my breath.

"Be careful!" I whispered in exaggeration to the rear of the group. My emerald eyes reverted to the house. Not a single light was visible, and nothing had been disturbed. Thank _goodness_.

My men and Canada's men took turns going in small groups across the enemies' property. Everything was going smoothly. The last group of men walked across the property with ease. I mentally gave myself a pat on the back. That was one obstacle passed!

"Carry on, men!" I whispered to my crowd of soldiers. Although we were passed the property, we still had one small problem; the dogwood tree that I didn't see!

I walked straight into the tree, yelping as the branches clawed at my shoulders and face. Ow! That hurt! Flowers from the tree began to rain down upon me, tickling my sensitive nose that sent me into a sneezing fit. I turned back to the house, and to my horror; a light was roaming through the house! I had woken up America! And now I was going to pay the price by being shot! Our whole mission will be wasted!

"Scatter to the bushes! Hurry!" I ordered quietly to my men and Canada, who had no hesitation scampering to the bushes. I myself did the same. As soon as I made it safely to the brush, the door to America's house swung open. There was America, standing there, in the bare flesh. He had on a blue-striped pair of flannel pajama's that buttoned in the front, and a light blue night cap to top it off. Hm, the glasses, which are sat lazily on his nose, is a new touch. I wonder when he got those. A gas lamp is resting in his hand. It's a mystery that his house hasn't caught on fire the way he is handling it. It takes a lot of will-power not to go over there and scold him like I did when he was under my control.

"Hello?" he asks to no one in particular. He wipes his eyes. I guess he has been sleeping. He steps out of the house and takes a look around.

_Please don't let him look in the bushes. Please don't let him in the bushes._ Please _don't let him look in the bushes_, I pray silently. If he does, our entire mission will be a bust, and we might as well end up dead!


	2. The Discovery

**_The Discovery_**

_(America's P.O.V.)_

* * *

"Hello?" I repeated again. I stepped out a little further from my cozy house. I thought for sure that I had heard someone sneezing out here. My lantern skimmed the tall hedges next to my house, and then to the large Dogwood tree in my yard. Had I been imagining things?

"Hello?" I asked a third time. Still no answer. I looked over my property one last time before shaking my head and laughing, the little puff ball at the end of my night cap swinging with the rhythm or my laughter.

"Oh man, I _really_ need to get to bed earlier. I'm hearing things like an old man!" I laughed at my own joke and shuffled back into my house. No more late-night meetings for me. Though, I guess the war had to do something with it. I have had more than one on occasion, sleepless nights. A war really takes your energy out when you're a country. Even though you are tired beyond recognition, you still stay awake at night, thinking about when the enemy might strike next, planning a new battle strategy, or worrying about the wounded soldiers and lack of supplies. Yep, wars really take it out of you.

I feel myself falling. I realize that I have tripped over a loose piece of stone from my walkway! I can see the lantern falling out of my hand. I catch it by it's handle and myself before I fall too. Oh boy, if I hadn't caught the lantern or myself, then I would have been in flames in the matter of seconds! Talk about a real fire hazard!

Wait a minute, a loose cobblestone? I shine my lantern to the loose stone. I pick it up and brush the dirt off of it. I thought that I had repaired my walkway weeks ago. I defiantly remember doing just that. I begin to get a little suspicious. Has someone recently been near my house?

... Nah. Probably just an animal or something. I shrug my shoulders and toss the stone aside. I can repair that in the morning. Right now, I need to get back to sleep.

I finally make it to my door without falling and almost catching my entire property on fire. Am I really _this_ tired?

I step inside of my slightly hot house. No ways of cooling myself, unless I want to take a freezing bath. I don't feel like getting wet at the moment. My house is large, but it doesn't have much furniture in it. I'm out of the house more than often, so I don't see the real reason to have an expensive, fancy home when you're hardly even there. I have a lot of imported furniture from France, Spain, and some English furniture, too, but I hardly ever use it. To many painful memories.

I trudge up my small flight of stairs and up to my small bedroom. I like to sleep in small, confided spaces. It makes me feel warm, and it makes up for how lonely I typically am. I don't let that get me down, though. I'm a new country, of course nobody is really going to recognize me, yet. But one day, I will be on the map for everyone to recognize me as one of the greatest nations in the world. One day, I will show them!

My head began to throb a little. To much thinking when your only about half-awake. My feet drag as I head over to my hand-made bed. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's alright. Setting my gas lantern on my nightstand, I clamber onto the creaky bed, pulling back the thin cotton comforter. Once I'm bound into the covers, I take off my glasses, and turn out my gas lamp. The whole room goes dark, with the exception of a silver of moonlight coming in from the small window. The window faces east, pointing in the direction of my capital.

For some odd reason, I feel this weird feeling in my stomach, like something is wrong. My gaze diverts to the window, and then to the capital. It's a little blurry, but I can tell that it looks beautiful in the moonlight. I can barely make out the flapping flag on the very top of the building. I can't help but smile. It took us years to build that capital, and it took us even longer to establish a government and a law of the land. People said that we were going to fail. Not on my watch! It did seem hopeless at times, but we managed. But then, that mindless, English twit decided to stick his nose up into my business, and declared war on me. Dude, are you _that_ desperate? If you wanted me to stay with you, then you should have just-

No, not tonight! Not ever again! The subject of our previous war is something hard to think about, much less talk about. The thought tugs my heart. Images flash through my mind of the bloodshed, the tears, everything, making my headache grow larger. I just... need some sleep. Yeah.

I flop down onto my pillow and close my eyes. Final images of the Revolutionary War scroll across my eyes until they fade...

* * *

I wake up on the battlefield. Wait a minute, how did I get here? Last thing I remember-

"Why?! _Why!?_" is ringing out across the field. Rain is pelting my coat, soaking me in cold, wet rain. England, my ex-caretaker, is on the ground in front of me, crumpled. He is sobbing and gasping for breath. He is clutching his gun close to his chest. Did I do this?

I think I did. All guns from the British army side are lowered. All of the guns on the American side are up and aimed. I thought about telling mt men to lower them, but I don't. Britain still has his gun with him, and in any moment, he could snap up and fire. This crying could be all fraud, and when we let our guard down, _POP POP POP!_ Bullet's flying and whirring around us in seconds.

Wait a minute, what the heck am I saying?! Britain said he just couldn't shoot me! War has really gotten to my head.

With one last breath, the crying stops. It is dead-silent, for a little while, until-

"You did this," came a harsh voice from the ground. I realize that England is talking. But to whom?

"_You_ did this," his head raises up. His beautiful emerald eyes are now nothing, an undescribable color. It was like the tears washed away the color. I shiver, and it wasn't from the icy rain.

"I guess... I have no choice," he continues darkly. England stands up, mud running down his leather boots. At first, it's just a dead silence, neither side daring to speak. Then, England begins to laugh. It's not humorous at all. It's dark, and scary. Why is he laughing? There is nothing funny about a war.

"You so ignorant," he says, still laughing, and then I realize he has raised his gun, and it's pointing straight at my head.

"England?" I ask, but he is no longer laughing. A cold scowl has crossed his face. He still hasn't lowered his gun yet.

"I won't lose, so I guess your going to have to die to save my pride." My eyes grow wide.

"N-no! You ca-" I start, but England shoots me down with a heartless glare, pun intended.

"Goodbye, Alfred F. Jones," he says. He is now smiling-smiling! The nerve!

He pulls the trigger. My ears pop from the loud sound the gun barrel makes. Then, a spitting, unbearable pain strikes like lightning through my head. I cry out, and I can feel myself falling. Everything is blurry. I feel so tired. I need to rest. I close my eyes, and the monstrous pain suddenly lifts...

* * *

I shoot up in my bed, my eyes bulging out of my head. I'm sweating like crazy, and I'm breathing hard. My hand immediately flies up to my head, and I feel for anything unusual; blood, a hole, a bullet, anything. Nope. Just sweat.

"Oh.. my god," I breathe out. That was scary beyond belief. unfortunately, that wasn't the first time I have had that dream. I've had it almost every night ever since our current war with Britain started a couple of years ago. The dream scares me half to death every time.

Out of the corner of my eye, an orange light flickers. I turn my head to look at the source of the light. Hm, I wonder-

Fear immediately strikes into my heart. The light, it's coming from my capital! I grab my glasses off of my nightstand and put them on. Now I can see what's happening; the British are trying to burn down my capital! I need to hurry and stop them before the entire capital is burnt to the ground!

I spring out of bed. Lucky, my uniform is nearby. I rip off my pajamas and change into my uniform. I need to hurry. I don't have much time! I look down-ah! Shoes! Where are they? I rush around my room, hoping to find them. I find a small pair of boots that hardly fit me. I put them on without hesitation. Comfort can come later, right now, my top priority is to keep my nation safe.

The boots are tighter than I thought, and because I haven't worn them in so long, they are stiff, hardly built for walking. Oh well.

I don't even care about how I look. I know I look like crap, but I need to save ny capital! I can't let my people down! Heros never do!

I grab my musket off of my dresser and run out of my room, down the steps, and out the door. The small flame at the bottom of the building has grown larger. No! I can't lose!

I sling my gun over my shoulder and sprint down the rugged path. All of the British men have gas lanterns in their hands, turned up to full power now. No!

"Ready, aim, fire!" shouts a somewhat familiar voice. _No!_

There is a retching, splitting, crackling sound. The sound of broken glass. The tiny flame that was once at the foundation of the building is now a gigantic, menacing blaze. It engulfs the bottom and middle part of my capital in seconds. _**NO!**_

"My capital..." I say softly. I bring my hand up over my mouth. I think I'm going to be sick.

My... capital... is gone. And I can't do anything about that.


	3. The Reality

_**The Reality**_

_(England's P.O.V.)_

* * *

"My capital..." I heard softly from behind me. I swerved around on the heel of my boot, and who to meet my eyes, was none other than America, Alfred F. Jones, my ex-colony. He had one hand clasped over his mouth, and the other hand grasping his chest, as if to hold in something. I couldn't help but smirk.

"What, are you going to cry?" I ask in intimidation. America immediately regained his posture, snapping out of the trance he was in.

"No I'm not!" he stated a little louder than necessary, voice cracking at the end. I've been around America for a little while, and I could tell when he was lying. His voice gets loud and it breaks off at the last word. I could feel my lips parting into a mischievous grin.

"Of course your not!" I retorted in a mocking tone that matched America's. I suppose I could prod his senses and make him feel like the big doofus he really was. He was no more than a child, alone in the world, just waiting to be picked off of the map like a piece of trash.

"England, why?" he asked in a childish tone. I couldn't help but laugh. He was too ignorant for his own good.

"Because I can!" I stated. I turned back to the burning capital. The flames danced in the air, creating a wonderful show. It was magical, much more than all of the black magic in the world put together in one large spell. I was engrossed in my complete mission, but just not enough to not hear the smallest sob come from behind me. I turn around again, slower this time, and instead of seeing the same shock from America, I saw hurt. Tears were steadily falling from his glossy-blue eyes, and he was shaking, trying not to lose control. It didn't faze me one bit.

"Aw, you _are_ going to cry. Well man up! This is the real world! This is nothing compared to the hardship I have experienced first-hand!" I yelled to America. He didn't speak, but continued to shake violently.

"E-Engla-" he began, but he didn't have time to finish his sentence before I ran up to him, and crashed my fist into his stomach. The air that was in America's lungs all came out at once, almost creating a choking sound. He fell to the ground, on his hands and knees. He lifted his head up to meet my gaze, but then it was reverted back to the ground again by my foot, which had then been sent down upon that big, mindless head of his.

"You have to understand this, America," I began softly, but then I quickly raised my voice again. "We countries fight to get what we want! We can't just cry and whine about it until we get it. You have to put blood and sweat into it! If you wouldn't have left me, none of this would have happened! If you hadn't interfered with my doing, then you wouldn't be a spineless, weak, and stupid country. Why do you even exist?! You're just another pointless country! You don't even have the right to _be_ a country!" All of my anger just boiled over, and it all came pouring out at once.

I yanked my foot off of America's head, and wiped my leather boot in the grass. I was just beyond angry. I was even surprised at my own outburst, but that was all of the anger that had been built up inside of me since America left me. It felt like another burden had been lifted off of my shoulders, but why did I feel worse about the subject of the past?

I turned back to look at my ex-colony. He was still on the ground, and still shaking. I looked back to the burning building behind me, and then to Canada, who looked absolutely mortified.

"What?" I grunted in annoyance. I haven't done anything wrong, have I?

"Um... don't you think you took that a little _too_ far?" asked Canada, who then pointed to America.

I opened my mouth to speak, but then was interrupted by a shout from one of my men.

"Stand back! She's going to fall!" One of them screamed. I then realized that they were talking about the capitol building. The foundation was shaking, being weak because of it being burned first. The flames were still climbing high, and one of the flames leapt up, and engulfed the flag in a spectacular array of oranges. Then, the building collapsed. It fell in what seemed to be like slow-motion. I took in every moment, basking in my glorious complete mission.

"What do you think of that, America?" I asked, my back still turned to him. When I got no response, I turned around to ask America once more, but then I stopped myself from saying anything.

America looked like he had just been in a three-year famine. His muscular figure had disappeared, leaving a very skinny, very pale man in it's wake. It made his uniform look very baggy. America's eyes were no longer the bright, shimmering blue I had grown used to see. They were a very dounced-pale blue, almost grey. His hair was a messy bird's nest, the bouncy lock of hair that he never tamed was now drooping in defeat. America was truly a sorry sight to see.

"... You don't think the Revolutionary War was hard on me either?" America asked me. The hurt, and yet the cloudy darkness in his voice startled me. It felt like my voice had been washed away. I tried to form words to answer, but they just dissolved into nothing at the touch.

"Well.. do you!?" he screeched. I took a step back. America bent his head down, hiding his dull, hollow eyes behind his stringy bangs.

"I really didn't want that war to start! But you forced me to do so! I really loved you, England, but then you had to crash that relationship down with your idiocy and ignorance! I spent every waking night for the last 40 years crying for you, and you never bothered to consider my feelings! You were so great, the one I looked up to, but then I saw the heartless, greedy person you were, and I couldn't love you anymore. But I didn't want to believe that! So I tried my hardest, but now I know I can't love you the way I did."

Now I knew why I didn't feel any better now. _I_ had caused America to suffer, to feel the pain that he shouldn't have. _I_ was the cause of the Revolutionary War. _I_ was the ignorant one, and I never stepped into the light to see that. _I_ was the one who split us apart, and turned us into the way we are. I felt wretched, but for the stupidest reason, I refused to believe it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was quickly cut off by America.

"And all on top of that, my entire family turned against me! I thought you guys loved me, but I guess I was wrong about that, too. You think the entire world revolves around you, England, But it doesn't. Not even close. Who knew you were..." America's voice trailed off.

The trembling continued, and America just hung his head. Suddenly, his head bolted upright, his eyes crackling with anger. He began to charge at me, dropping his weapon in the process.

He ran up to me, and began pounding his fists into my chest. Not exactly hard enough to cause any physical damage, but just enough to make me want to cry.

"England, you... you.. England! You little... you! You did... did...!" America was struggling to form words with every blow. He was gasping for air. He tried to form more words, but he just couldn't.

The pounding stopped gradually, and when America finally stopped, he let out this raspy whine, and fell to the ground in front of me on his knees. That's when he broke down.

Sobs rang out into the tense air. I took in every sight; America was a emotional wreck, Canada was still shocked, My men were staring at me, and the hot, crackling embers from the reciting fire leapt to nowhere. I looked back to America again. He was still sobbing.

Why did this scene feel so familiar? I can't recall-

That's when the horrible, gut-twisting memories came back from our previous war. _I_ was the one on the ground, gasping and sobbing, completely in tears. America towered over me, muttering something that I couldn't understand. Gun-shots, the sounds of dying men, everything that had caused me to near insanity came flooding into my mind all at once like a tidal wave. I felt light-headed, I was sure that I was going to faint. I needed to get out of here.

I couldn't run forwards, America was still on the ground crying. I couldn't run right, Canada was blocking my way. I couldn't run left, my celebrating soldiers were there. I couldn't run backwards, the burnt capital was still sizzling. I was trapped.

My breathing increased as more wretched memories crashed into my brain. I was hypervena-whatever-it-was. I couldn't think straight. I just needed fresh air to breathe, not air filled with smoke and ashes.

All of a sudden, it was completely quiet. It was like the entire world just lost it's voice. Everything was still moving, but not a single sound was made. My thoughts began to spin inside of my head. I staggered backwards, my breathing increased. My knees felt weak. I looked down at my shaking hands. I needed to sit down. Then, everything went black.


	4. The Light

_The Light_

_(America's P.O.V.)_

_THUD!_

Even in my emotional state, I can hear something hit the ground. Hard. I wipe my eyes and look up to find England on the ground in a crumpled heap. What happened?

British men are running towards England. They are shouting things I can't understand. Whatever. It's not like I care.

I try to stand up, but my legs are seemingly operating on a different function than I want them to. I crash to the ground again, and another pain overwhelms my body. I think I twisted my ankle.

Soft but rapid footsteps approach me. I look up, to see Canada looking down at me. He looked a little dazed but frightened. He kneels down to meet my eyes properly.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I try to respond, but instead I draw in a sharp breath as I shift my body to stand up again. Ow, my foot, leg, ankle, I don't know!

"I presume not," mumbled Canada. "Come on, I'll help you to your house." He extends his hand, and I reach out to grab it, but I then stop.

Wait minute, something smells fishy here. One minute, Canada is help Britain burn down the thing that means most to me, then the next, he is trying to help me. This doesn't make any sense. Is Canada my friend, or my enemy? I'm not so sure.

I grab Canada's hand anyways. He pulls me up quickly, and I squeak when my left foot hits the ground.

"Are you hurt?" he asks me. I nod. I really don't want to speak, as I might do one of the following- a, I might hurl. B, I might get into a coughing fit and start coughing blood. Or c, I might start crying uncontrollably again. I don't want to do anything except get back to my house and have a long rest.

Canada throws my arm around his shoulder. He look serious. I wonder...?

"Can you walk?" asked Canada.

"Mm-hm," I mumble, not opening my mouth. I hope I sounded confident, but to be honest, I'm not so sure myself. I mean, I don't know how badly I am hurt, if anyone was inside of the capital building when it was burned and collapsed, if Canada is the enemy or the ally, what happened to England, if the English soldiers are planning another attack or if they had attacked elsewhere, and I had no clue if I had won the war or not. This is a crushing defeat for us, and this might signify the end if the war. God forbid, I don't know what I would do if I were under British rule again. To hard, to painful. Let's just hope that this is just a time period where my soldiers and I are in a slump, and in several days time, we can go back to kicking British butt.

"You ready?" asked Canada. I nod. I lift my uninjured foot off of the ground and place it in front of me with ease. No pain here. I then pick up my other foot; the one that is possibly broken. I lift it cautiously and lower it down slowly. The moment my foot barely touched the earth, I have to bite my lip in order to keep me from screaming. God, this hurts so _much_.

"I'm guessing you are having trouble walking?" Canada asks me patiently. I close my eyes and nod again. I still don't feel comfortable speaking.

"Well, I believe you are to heavy for me to carry you home, so your probably going to have to hop on one foot or something."

"Alright," I say, finding my voice again.

I carefully raise my left foot again and lean against Canada for support.

"Here, I'll help you as best as I can to get back to your house," Canada offered, and I gladly excepted it

I hobble on one foot for several yards before my good leg felt tired. I want to put my left foot on the ground, but I know if I do that, then I might hurt my foot more than it already was.

"Stop," I breathed to Canada. He stopped with a jolting. My right leg wobbled a bit. I thing I'm going down.

Amazing, I'm holding up, but my weak legs was still wobbling. We start up again, and we hobble to up to my walkway. Smoke is still filling the air from the dying fire as people from the surrounding houses step out to see what all of the ruckus is about. Some of them look absolutely terrified. I don't blame them one bit.

We began to start up the cobble stone way. I lean into Canada for a little extra support, just to be sure I can't injure myself further.

"Just a little further and we will be- _GAH_!" screams Canada. What was he-? That's when I realize we were both going down.

It is like we are falling in slow motion. I take in all of the sights- my hair whipping around my face, my glasses sliding off of my nose, Canada's mouth agape. It almost seems peaceful, except for the screaming fact that we might end up badly hurt. Canada's mouth began to move, and he threw his hands out in front of him, apparently going to embrace his fall. I assume I should do the same.

We both catch ourselves in the nick of time. Our little surreal moment ends quick, and we are back in normal time. I am breathing hard, Canada repeating me.

"Woah..." Canada pants. I nodd. He stands up, and brushs himself off quickly. He doesn't even wait for me to recover- he has already grabbed my hand and was heading towards my front door.

Canada literally is dragging me inside of my house. I really don't care, though. I just want to rest, and act like this day didn't happen at all. Act like the past few hours were just a horribly twisted dream, but my common sense kicks in almost immediately. I know this won't pass over in several days time. This will linger in my mind for a long time, possibly forever.

Canada grabs my arms and slings me onto my couch. I hiss as my foot twists. I hope that Canada is trained a bit in first-aid.

"Can I get you anything?" asks Canada.

"Can you maybe patch my leg up a little?" I ask.

"Of course. Where is your first-aid kit?"

"It's in the bathroom, the bottom cabinet to the left."

"Okay, thanks!"

And with that, Canada clomps up the stairs, and I am left alone. I can feel my ankle throbbing, my head pounding, my heavy breathing, my sweaty body, every single detail about me. I feel uncomfortable, and I shift my weight around a little, trying to avoid my injured foot.

Canada comes back down the stairs with a pile of bandages stacked up on top of a wooden box. I can see he is trying to struggle to not drop everything and make a huge mess.

"Gee whiz Canada, you aren't going to wrap me up like a mummy are you?" I ask with a half-hearted laugh. Canada gives a crooked smile towards me, but his gaze down-casts back down to the load he had in his arms.

He walks steadily over to me and sets the box and bandages on my rather small coffee table.

"Left foot, right?" he asks. I giggle.

"What foot are you talking about? Left or right?" I laugh, but then hiss. Ow, I almost forgot about my foot.

"Shut up, and tell me which foot," Canada spat through gritted teeth. My laughter dies down in an instant. Why is he so... so serious all of a sudden?

"Uh, left," I reply quietly. Canada's hand flew to my foot, and I yelp as he gently grazed my leather boot. His long and slender fingers begins to caress my ankle, me yelping and jerking with every movement.

"Hold still!" cries Canada as his other hand comes down on my other leg. I squirm a little as his hand traces my ankle bone lightly.

"Yep, it's broken, alright. How did you manage to break it this badly?" Canada concludes as he reaches for the wooden box on the table.

"I don't know. I fell or something." I say with a shrug. Like I can seriously remember exactly what happened. I have so many thoughts spinning through my head as of right now, I think it'll explode!

"Hm, I think I found the problem." says Canada matter-of-factly. "These boots are to stiff and to small for your feet. You must've caught your foot in an unseen hole or something. We need to cut these boots off of you, because there is really no way of pulling them off. It's like they are grown into your feet."

I open my mouth to say something, but I was cut off by you-know-who.

"How did you get into these guys, anyway? They are so freaking tight!" Canada exclaims as he wiggles my right boot. I don't realize he was going to cut them off until I felt a stinging, cold sensation hit my foot with barely a jerk. I'll tell you, though, it scared me half to death.

"Mattie! What are you doing?" I ask him. Canada doesn't look up, and continues his handy work. The cold metal scissors gently graze my foot, sending shivers up through my body.

Cutting through my left boot was eminsly painful. The cold metal of the scissors helped numb my pain a bit.

Next, he moved to restrain my legs. He sits on my thighs with his back to me and begins the painful process of putting the bone back in place.

"This isn't going to hurt, is it?" I ask to Canada's back. Canada looks over his shoulder and gives me sympathetic look.

"I'm realining your bones. Of course it's going to hurt," Canada says softly. My eyes grow wide. I've never had a bone put back in place before.

"W-wait!" I call out as Canada's fingers gently graze my ankle.

"Yes?" Canada asks me, turning his head to meet my gaze.

"I-I don't think this is such a-a good idea!" I stutter.

"Look, if I don't reset it, then you'll be stuck on crutches for the rest of your life. Do you want that?!" Canada exclaims.

"No, but-"

"It's a yes or no question, no 'buts' about it," He says angrily. He turns back to my foot.

"Mattie, why are you angry at me?" I whine. I have to stall him. I don't want him to make my pain even worse!

"Because you need medical care, even if it hurts! Now quit stalling me," Canada snaps.

"By the way, why are you even helping me?"

Canada's head snaps up, but he's not looking at me.

"I thought you were on England's side," I remind him gingerly.

"I can be on whoever's side I want," Canada says simply.

"But, you're still loyal to England, so doesn't that make you-"

"So, I can't help my blood brother?" Canada interrupts.

"Well, that's not the point. Wait a minute, are you a spy? Are you supposed to be watching me for him or something?" I ask, getting suspicious.

"What? No! I'm my own man. I'm not a tool for England to win the war!" Canada retorts, spinning his head around to see me again.

"Then why do you stay with him?" I ask, my voice rising.

"Why can't I be friends with both of you, not just one or the other?" Canada exclaims.

"That was not my question. Why do stay with England?" I repeat, irritation clear in my voice.

"The same reason why I care for you!" Canada is practically screaming at me now, and I can feel is body tense up on top of me.

"Why is that, then?!" I scream back.

"Why does it matter to you?!" Canada's grip tightens on my leg. I hardly notice.

"Because I'm worried about you! England is using you! I can see it! You have to stop living in a fairy tale world, and open your eyes! You need to rebel against him!" I shout. I know I'm ordering him around, like a big pain in the you-know-what. I am trying to help him from having his sensitive heart crushed under England's foot!

Canada's face turns a deep shade crimson. His violet eyes go a dark shade of purple. He's snapped.

"England has been treating me good! You left him and broke his heart! You are so delusional, Alfred! You are brainwashed by your vision to be a hero! Well, here's a news flash; you can't be hero when you hurt the ones you love! Ever since France had to leave me, England has been trying with all of his power to make me feel at home, and when you left, he was an absolute mess! He loved you, Alfred, and you threw his love on the ground and shattered it to a million pieces! You, America, are not a hero!"

With his last word, his grip tightens to a death grip around my foot and shin. He then does the unthinkable- he twists my leg and foot so hard, I can feel the broken bones grind together to try to find their place again.

I howl in pain, and I feel a prickling sensation brewing in the corner of my eyes. _Don't cry, it's okay. Deal with the pain like a man._ I tell myself. The last thing I want to do is bawl like a baby in front of my younger brother... Oh wait, I've already done that.

I can hear Canada's heavy breathing. I wonder how long he's been holding that anger in. Probably to long.

"Hey Mattie, are you okay?" I ask, my voice so soft, I sound like Matt.

I don't get an immediate response, only the sounds of Canada's panting. Then, I hear a sigh.

"I'm okay. Sorry, I know that had to hurt," Matt replies quietly.

"It's okay," my voice answers back so quietly, it's a whisper. "The pain is actually a lot better now."

Canada chuckles, climbing off of me. He begins to bind my foot and broken ankle in a splint carefully. I stay quiet as he works, fearing he might snap at me again, and actually break my other foot.

After he finishes binding my foot, I timidly look at Matthew.

"What should I do now?" I ask him. Canada sighs and runs his fingers through his messy hair.

"Stay here and get some rest.," he says bluntly. He doesn't have to tell me twice.

For the longest time, we don't say a word between each other. I stare at the ceiling, not thinking about anything. All of a sudden, a large yawn slips out of me.

"Tired?" asks Canada. I nod my head in response.

"I'll take you up to your bedroom, if you want, that is."

"Of course," I admit quietly.

Matt walks over to me and helps me sit upright on my couch. I gently put my feet to the floor. I stand, putting all of my weight on my good foot. Canada stands on my good side, and swing my arm around his shoulders. He slides his arms under my other arm to support me.

We wobble up my staircase to my bedroom. Halfway up the stairs, we are both panting. Canada was out of breath for lugging me up the stairs, and me because of my pain. Once we finally got to my bedroom, Canada heaved me on the bed.

We both sigh and look at each other. Canada helped me so much tonight, that I owe him.

"Would you like to stay with me tonight? You can stay in the guest bedroom down the hall," I offer to him. He smiles down at me.

"Of course," Canada replies, and all of a sudden, he looks extremely tired.

"Goodnight Al," Canada says quietly as he is about to leave the room.

"Goodnight Mattie," I reply with a smile. Canada closes the door behind him. Tonight was huge- no wait, that's an understatement. I just need some rest. A good, long rest.

I close my eyes, and drift off to a deep sleep, the smile still on my face.


	5. The Thoughts

_The Awakening_

_(England's P.O.V.)_

Everything is so foggy, or at least that's what I think it feels like. I know I'm unconscious. I'm in a totally different state of mind. I can't see anything, but blackness. I can still hear things, though. I can hear men talking, laughing, breathing. I wonder what's going on outside. I want to open my eyes, but my body refuses to listen to my mind.

I wonder where I am. I don't know if my men left me out on the battlefield, if they took me back to base camp, if the villagers caught me, or something worse. I don't want to think about that all to much.

I hear whispering. I can't tell who the whispers belong to, nor can I tell what they are saying. I feel like... I don't know. Undescribable feelings are running through my head. Thoughts that I never thought I had are spinning in my brain. I feel... desolate, like I've become desolate from the world. Like I'm not even supposed to be on the world. Like I'm the only person, like every single man on earth had died. Except me.

Some of America's words are now streaming into my jumbled thoughts. I can still hear his voice screaming out over the seemingly dead landscape now. _I really didn't want that war to start!_ _I tried my hardest, but now I know I can't love you the way I did._ _You think the entire world revolves around you, England, but it doesn't._ _I spent waking night for the last 40 years crying for you, and you never bothered to consider my feelings!_ _England, why?_ The last word is echoing and bouncing in my head. Why did I...? Why? Just why? Why did I do what I did? What did I do?

Was I really the cause of the Revolutionary War? Was it all my fault that America and I are now enemies? I couldn't have been! America was the one who rebelled, who disobeyed me, who acted like a complete fool. It is all America's fault!

Wait a minute. Now that I look back on it, maybe this all wasn't America's fault. I remember when I had to leave him a lot when he was still a part of me. He was almost in near tears whenever I had to leave him, and at that, I did leave him for a long time. Sometimes years. It must be hard to not see your dad everyday, to be a colony, alone and scared in the world with no one to turn to. Me? I grew up with no one to look up to, and France or Spain was not an option to follow. I dealt with it, because I had no real father. Well, come to think of it, non of us countries have no real blood parents. We were just created, but we do have adopted fathers and big brothers.

I remember when I used to have America and Canada. They are actual blood brothers, and they are pretty close. Though, ever since America rebelled and left me, they have grown apart a bit. I can tell. Though, they still care for each other, but their bond isn't as strong as it used to be. In fact, if Canada was to ever become his own country one day, then they will drift even further apart. Poor, poor Canada. I remember a couple years back when America burnt Canada's capital down to the ground, well, actually my capital. Canada was crushed, and didn't trust anybody after that, not even me. Thank the heavens he has finally crawled out of that hard shell of his. I think he has become a little more insecure of himself. If he becomes a country now, then he won't stand a chance. He's to fragile, and to weak to become one now. I'll just hope that America doesn't try to get inside of Canada's head tonight.

Come to think of it, why am I sitting here? I could be running to find America and see if he is alright- no, what am thinking?! That is the stupidest idea ever! What if he gets mad at me? He might have me set to a life sentence in hell! But, I wonder how he's doing. When I blacked out, he was still crying, an absolute mess. Though, the sobs did die down after I fell to the ground. I remember hearing Canada's voice, trying to talk to him to see if he was alright. I heard no response from America, though, I did hear him cry out in pain several times. I assume he has been hurt. If any of my men layed a finger on him, I'm going to... what would I do...?

As of right now, I'm fighting two wars. One with France, and now this one. I need to stick with my colony, as he is everything I have. Though, I need to fight for my land. If Napoleon should take over the United Kingdom, I would become his slave. I would become France's slave as well. I shudder to think about it. I'm stuck out in the ocean between these two land masses. I can't choose, it's next to impossible between my colony and my homeland.

I believe we are heading out tomorrow. We will sail back to the United Kingdom and finish off Napoleon. I hope Matthew will be alright here alone. Alone with America... it doesn't sound bad, but it is. It truly is. America might be unstable, ready to snap. He could go off on a rampage, and end up hurting people, namely himself. I would hate for Alfred to be hurt. He is already hurt enough...

Those words. He said them. I didn't think he would have felt that way. I thought I was the one who was hurt, not him. I thought he just an ungrateful git who didn't appreciate what I had done for him. I didn't think about him. I thought he was being selfish, not caring about me at all. I guess I was wrong, so, so wrong. He did care about me after all. That's why he didn't shoot me when he had the chance. He could have easily pointed the gun to me and pulled the trigger. That would have been the end for me, but here I am now, fighting yet another war with him. Time flies when you are having fun, as they say. Well, for me, time flies when you are waiting for a call to war. Has it really been forty years? It seems like only twelve.

Should I really go and find him? Should I confront my fears to him? Should I this, should I that. Make up your mind, England!

I feel so powerless right now, though. I can't even wake up. If I do wake up, the first thing I'm going to do is slap myself silly, thinking these idiotic thoughts. I should be laughing at myself right now. I'm the true idiot, not America, Canada, or anyone else. I'm selfish, I'm a coward, I'm everything but great.

"Nhh..." I groan. I have found my voice. My eyes open a fraction. I have finally woken up. I was beginning to fear that I would not. What would my country do without me?

"Mhn..." I groan again. I turn my head the slightest. I scrunch my face as if I was in the middle of a nightmare. I think I am in one, though. One I seemingly can't escape.

Whispers coast through my ears. It sounds like static to me, though.

"He is waking up," says one voice.

"He fell hard. I wonder if he is hurt," whispers another.

More whispers circulate through my head until the voices speaking become clear. They are the voices of my troops and men.

"How are you feeling boy?" asks my second-in-command officer.

"Good..." I breathe out. I close my eyes again.

"You don't sound fine," states the officer. "And you don't look so well either my boy."

"How...?" I groan out.

"Well, you are majorly pale, and you are sweating pretty badly. Your voice sounds like a sick frog, and you..."

I feel a very cold hand graze my forehead.

"And you feel like you have a fever," finishes the officer.

I sigh and shake my head as best as I can. I'm fine, really. I just need to rest up a bit before I start to move around.

"May I have everyone's attention?" shouts my second-in-command officer. Whatever chat is left drops.

"I would like to thank you all in helping us accomplish the best victory of this memorable war yet: burning Washington."

My eyes shoot wide open.

"We couldn't have done this without Arthur Kirkland, the man that made this all possible. How about a big round of applause for him?"

Whoops, cheers, and applause echo throughout the tent.

"Let's hope we can win this war. Then, not only will we still have control of our British colonies, but America as well!"

The cheering gets louder. I think they are over-celebrating.

"Thank you everyone! May your names go down in British history!"

The hurrah is ear-splitting. I wince as the piercing shouts needle my ears. I need to get out of here.

I stand up, my balance a wee wobbly, but I can stand. I start to walk as casually as I possibly can. Pushing slightly drunk men out of my way, I find the opening of the tent, my ticket out of here.

I'm walking, and no one's bothering to follow me. Maybe I can-

"Where do you think you're going?" asks an oily voice, it hissing in my ears. I clamp my mouth shut to keep me from screaming. A strong, firm hand wraps around my arm. I turn my head slowly to see who has me locked.

It's my second-in-command officer. His golden eyes seem to glow an eerie yellow, and his thin lips are pressed together in a disapproving frown.

"Ah... uh... just out for a fresh walk, you know?" I try, lying straight through my teeth. The officer isn't fooled.

"You're going to see that American idiot and your weak colony, aren't you?" he strikes, his voice dripping with cold, unforgiving venom. I could lie again, but it'd be pointless to try. Instead I quiver, as his hand is making my arm go numb.

"Canada is not weak," I defend. My officer chuckles coldly.

"That man is good for nothing but a decoration in your record. A weight holding you down. Why haven't you given up on him? I would have a long time ago," his voice like hard ice. My internal bell rings, and anger sparks up inside of me. How dare he talk of one of my most successful colonies like that?! Ubsurd!

"And that... that American trash. A low-life, a coward, the underdog. Why did you even bother with trying to start a war with that down-and-outer dud? Much less _two_ wars. It sickens me," he continued. My anger meter jumped awfully quick from a three to a nine. How dare he!

"I can fire you right now without a second chance of you getting back with the British forces!" I screech. I spoke a little to soon. His eyes narrow to slits, and he grabs my arm up high, lifting me up off of the ground. I dangle in the air, scared out of my wits. I thrash a little, but I'm powerless against this man. He is taller, bigger, and not to mention stronger than I am. He could kill me if he wanted to.

"Ah ah ah," he taunts, waving his finger in my face. "Let's not make a rash decision, shall we?" his bitter voice sooths. Then, he throws me. I fly through the air like a bird. I don't scream, I don't cry out. I'm in to much shock to do anything but stare at the approaching ground, dumbfounded. Wait a-!?

I hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud. I land on my back. Ouch, I think I'm going to feel that in the morning. I gasp as the pain shoots up through my spine like a beam of lightning. The man who just flung me towers over me. I gulp. I'm going to get pummeled to a

"You know you could never fire me. You don't have enough strength and will power to do so. Even if you did, I could kill you in an instant. I'm much more powerful than you, and you know it. You cower in fear whenever I'm around. So I highly suggest you take back what you said..."

He draws a dagger from his belt, the blade gleaming in the early morning sun. Any moment now and that thing could be dirty with blood. My blood, to be exact.

"Right. Now," he jeers, his voice freezing like dry ice.

I don't say anything. I'm too paralyzed with fear.

"Such a shame for a shiny, beautiful blade to be dirtied up with such scumy blood," he purrs, turning the switch blade around to catch the dawn light perfectly, radiating a ghostly glow, casting it down to my neck. He extends his arm backwards. He's going to strike me!

"Alright alright! You may stay!" I cry out, a small tear rolling down my cheek. I hate to be threatened and give in. It makes me feel weak, but if it saves my life...

"That's what I thought," says the officer with a satisfied smile. He puts the blade back in a pocket of his belt and begins to walk back to camp.

"Oh, and, don't try running away. I'll make sure I track you down, one way or another." I can't tell if that's a threat or a warning not to leave camp. Probably both.

I don't get up from the damp ground. I'm to stunned. I just lay there and let my tears fall. I don't make a sound. I look up at the distorted sky. All I see is a blur of blue, orange, yellow, and red. Nothing recognizable. Like my thoughts. I can't seem to get my head together. I don't even know who's side I'm on anymore. The British side, my homeland, the place I founded and grew up in. My beloved home, or the rebels, the Americans. Home to the place to the person who I loved most of all. Loved like he was my real, blood brother. My brother that completely hates me. What am I fighting even? This war, or myself?


End file.
